At War in Love. The Shadow over Rhudaur Part IV

Chapter 5. Eryndil's Home Fills

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Cameth Brin, late afternoon of November 4, 1347.
Written by Earniel
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Wilwarin quietly left her small quarters and the palace. She suppressed a little yawn. By now her body had pretty much adapted to the unnatural rhythm of watching at night, sleeping in the morning and rising again only in the late afternoon. But while her body had adapted, her mind had not quite caught up yet. It still felt strange waking up when the rest of the world had already gone through half a day. Sometimes she woke up with a start, thinking she had overslept and would be late for her duties, only to remember her duties weren’t quite the same anymore.

Wearing a dress felt nearly unnatural as well, having been used by now to the riding clothes she wore on guard-duty and during the exercises. For while Wilwarin no longer had other tasks than to watch over the princesses at night, she was now required to maintain her skill with the blade through exercise, which often took up a good portion of her day-time hours. But not so today.

She hastened her step. She had written her parents to inform them about her new duty and she had calculated a reply should now be waiting for her at the courier’s office. While she had been in Cameth Brin alone for more than a year, she had written often. Sometimes even weekly, if she could find a traveler going there.

She reached the office where the travelers and trade caravans usually dropped off the letters they carried with them. Her calculations turned out correct and she emerged a little later with the long expected letter. She had been fortunate to get it, as it had arrived with the last caravan of the year. They would depart again tomorrow and not return until spring. Her reply would have to be quick as well.

She went back to the palace grounds and looked the letter over. In the left upper-corner of the envelope stood a dwarfish rune, like a stylised butterfly, a symbol only her family would use. When she unfolded the letter, there were two sheets. One from her father and one from her mother, both easily distinguishable by the different handwriting. Her father wrote like he did his accounting: neat and meticulous and seemingly having to account for every deviation. Her mother’s handwriting was rounder and more fluent, and she indulged herself an elegant curl now and then.

Your news caused quite some commotion here! Your brother has boasted that he can probably still beat you with the blade, as he’s the one that taught you how to use it in the first place. Your younger sister is quite jealous. And in exchange she commands you to describe in your next letter in full how your two royal charges look. She’s in particular interested in what princess Odaragariel’s usually wears, for word has it she knows how to appreciate expensive clothes and jewellery. Your sister expects full descriptions, she insists I add, or she won’t like you anymore.

Next followed a short description of the news of her home town. Her sister Finareth would marry in April next year. The last trade caravan had been successful, although the attacks from highway robbers were becoming more frequent. Her father would probably need to hire more guards for the next journey. Wilwarin also had a new cousin who had been born three weeks go.

Her father’s letter was ending with a warning:
"We’re proud of you, Wilwarin, for what you have achieved. But be ever wary. Do not get embroiled in politics, for the intrigues at the royal court are no doubt the most fickle and the deadliest. I’d rather try to sell an axe to a dwarf then meddle in politics."

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Tanoth Brin, evening of November 4, 1347.
Written by Valandil
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Another day was drawing to a close at “The Market Street Inn”. Brithoren, the innkeeper smiled with satisfaction as he wiped down out a tankard and thought about all the money he was making. The music had just ended and several of the patrons had just departed for their homes for the night. Around him, the last few customers joked and laughed with the serving girls, and in one corner, several of his servants had gathered for their evening meal.

His eyes lit upon two of them; Harma and Harda, they had called themselves, cousins they said – off a little to one side of the rest. They seemed a bit out of place among his other servants, but he was glad to have them. And to think he had almost turned them away – when they’d come around late the one night, almost two weeks back. He took them in though, and they quickly proved themselves. Harma, the small one, did most of the talking, and was dependable enough to send on errands or to take charge of difficult tasks. Yet when the two drew aside together, Harma seemed always deferential toward Harda. Harda, worked the forge out back, and while slow at first, he was quickly gaining in strength and deftness of hand. He seemed slow of foot, and wasn’t fit for moving about all day – but he could stand at a task and put his mind to it for hours on end. He wasn’t much for words, but on about their third day here, there was trouble of some kind among the other servants – Brithoren still wasn’t sure just what – but he heard that Harda had taken care of it. Besides, old men that they were, they ate but little, and took up very little space – and were no trouble at all.

Meanwhile, Harma and “Harda” were having a discrete conversation of their own.

“Tell me again Harma… what you saw. What she looked like.”

“Only as I’ve said before, master. She and her friends went all a’riding by, and made trouble for an apple peddler. Dressed all plain she was, notably so amongst a proud company, and I wonder at it – for she must be the highest born of them all – save only one of the other young women.”

Harda sat back and sighed. “Oh, I wish I had been there to see her though. You must know how it aches me, Harma.”

“Yes master, but say no more of it now. The proper time for that will come, surely. But first we must know what risk there is. And who it is that would harm you. We certainly want no harm coming to HER.”

The two returned then to the bowls before them and to their prior silence, stealing glances around to make sure they had not been overheard.

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Royal Palace of Cameth Brin, mid-morning of November 5, 1347.
Written by Valandil
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Rondaran and Lastorion had arrived early to the Winter Garden Gallery this morning, where for the previous three days, along with their two colleagues, they had waited in vain to be drawn into the King’s Small Council Room to begin the duties for which they had been brought together. This morning, the two sat near the windows with the door ajar that they would know if someone drew near, and spoke together in hushed whispers over the remnants of their breakfast.

“The King won’t call us today either, I’ll wager,” began Rondaran. “The Council doesn’t like us being here, and he doesn’t want to stir up trouble.”

“Patience Rondar,” replied Lastorion. “We don’t have a bad life, as it is.” He continued after a pause, “As for our own plans, and our two compatriots, what do you think? Eryndil has the greater ability, does he not?”

“Yes – he does. But I don’t think he would approve of our ideas… or our methods.”

“Nonetheless, I aim to explore it a bit. Without revealing ourselves, for sure.”

“You take good care, Lastorion,” Rondaran replied gravely. “Our lives could be at stake. As for me, I have greater hopes that Naurlith will be sympathetic to our designs.”

“He is quiet and hard to gage, but I think you’re right. Eryndil, though, would be the greater help. Hush now… here comes one.”

At that, Eryndil strode through the door.

“Good morning friends,” he began. “Still at breakfast? I had that ere the crack of dawn, then took to the ordering of my house for the day.”

“Had to get up and milk the cows, eh farm boy?” answered Rondaran with a smirk.

Lastorion laughed as he rose in greeting and said, “Don’t mind my grumpy companion here, Eryndil. He had his hard duty last night, keeping up the spirits of the young ladies here in the upper city. Your presence then was missed indeed. Won’t you join us tonight?”

Eryndil smiled at the friendly offer. It sounded inviting, and things were not going well at all with the particular young lady he couldn’t completely get off his mind. “Sure, why not? But… I half-expect my family in town any day. If they should arrive…”

“Of course, of course. But first we’ll see what His Majesty requires of us today.”

So the three sat for a while until Naurlith likewise joined them, and then the four waited further. Rondaran and Lastorion had both lived in the city for all their lives. Lastorion was a nephew of Orefim, and Rondaran a protege of his mentor, Nimruzir. Naurlith’s history was more like that of Eryndil’s – younger son of a Thane and a soldier in the King’s service, he was recommended to the King by Huramir of Dol Aglardin. Eryndil had received no particular nomination, but was added chiefly by his reputation alone – though Merendil knew him and added his good opinion when it was solicited. Eryndil was a good deal younger than the rest, but the oldest was not more than 70.

Eventually, a messenger came to the door. All turned, expectant at whether they should be at last summoned, or once again dismissed.

“Sir Eryndil, a company has arrived at the outer gate of Cameth Brin, claiming to be your family. They were taken to the city square to await you.”

Eryndil rose quickly, bowed slightly to his companions and began to make his departure. “A company?” he thought. Before he reached the door, Rondaran had spoken.

“What of us, messenger?”

“Oh… His Majesty the King says for you to return again tomorrow.”

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City Square of Cameth Brin, mid-morning of November 5, 1347.
Written by Valandil
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When Eryndil reached the city square of Cameth Brin, he realized that there was indeed a company. Not only had his father and mother and his sister Hendegil come, but also his brother Vilyandur and sister Gildurien, and Dornendur’s two younger children, Eryndil’ niece Glambeth and nephew Paurblung – as well as a few servants and Eryndil’s four men who had escorted them all.

First there were warm greetings all around, and then a flood of questions, but soon the talk drifted to the trip from Ostinand to Cameth Brin. The frustration began to show in Camglas’ face.

“We made good time – only started on the first, as I didn’t care to be out traveling on Duvudu. But we made Penmorva the first day, the Crossroads the next and camped out the night after. Oh – and did we have a hard, cold rain then! Fearful that snow was just behind it, I pushed hard the day after, yesterday that is, and bypassed River Crossings, hoping to make Cameth Brin. But when we got to the gate of Tanoth Brin, it was after dark and no amount of pleadings or threats would get those guards to open their fool gate! So we had to turn around and go back to the Four Furlongs. Oh – the prices there! What’s more, a wheel on my supply wagon started to give me trouble. Well, this morning we come along and all, and the wagon wheel just breaks apart right in the middle of town – Tanoth Brin that is! So we had to load our things in the coach, and pack up the horses and some had to walk besides.”

“Oh – and that walk. Bad enough the climb, but the men along the way, between the cities now – were just the lewdest, crudest…”

“Yes father, I know. Those are Broggha’s men.”

“Broggha’s men!” exclaimed Camglas, seeming surprised. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me!”

“So did you just leave your wagon where it fell?” asked Eryndil, curious and somewhat amused. His father rarely got very talkative, but he was flowing like a waterfall now.

“More or less. Dropped it at the Market Street Inn down there. Innkeeper says he’s got a man he thinks can fix it. I can’t imagine what he’s going to charge me though.”

On the lookout for a break, Eryndil noticed the messenger only now turning about and heading back toward the palace grounds, and realized that he had been standing by Hendegil. “Hendegil, what did you have for the messenger?”

“Oh – he just waited for me,” Hendegil said happily, “while I wrote a note to Caelen, inviting her and her brother over to your house!”

Eryndil tried to keep the smile pasted to his face, but inwardly groaned.

“What is it, Eryndil?” asked his mother.

“Oh – it’s just that Callon is away.”

“A-WAY?” his mother asked sharply.

“Yes, but under orders. He’s part of the royal stablemaster’s men, and his duties have taken him out of town for a few days.”

“Then all the more reason for us to have Caelen over,” his mother said frostily. Then turning about, she added, “It’s chilly up here, even at mid-day. Won’t you take us to your home?”

“If her brother is away, maybe Caelen should stay with US!” offered Hendegil.

Eryndil only just managed to turn his wince into a smile as his sister looked expectantly into his eyes.

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Eryndil's home in Cameth Brin, midday of November 5, 1347.
Written by Valandil
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The group was soon at Eryndil’s house, travel-weary, but excited to be at a new place, and to see if it was all as wonderful as it sounded in Eryndil’s letter and from the descriptions of his men. Before long, all were pretty well satisfied that it was every bit as pleasant as described – and even pointed out to Eryndil all the great things he had failed to mention to them.

Eryndil delighted in the presence of his family once more. After a short while though, when the initial excitement had died down, he noticed that Soromo had withheld himself from contact with the new arrivals as much as possible. But now that things had calmed down a bit, he approached Eryndil’s father, stood directly before him, drew himself up and addressed him rather pointedly.

“You are Camglas, son of Borlost, Thane of Nandemar?”

Camglas was taken aback a bit at first and only replied after pausing and briefly studying the man before him, “Yes, I am he.”

Soromo bowed and continued, “Then I have an office to fulfill. The King, Tarnendur has taken this house and bequeathed it to your third son, Eryndil, but for my part I return it to you, for it has been in the keeping of my fathers and me these eleven score years.”

Camglas, his eyebrows knitting together, looked even more curiously at Soromo. “Well, I’ll not gainsay my King, but you… then you are…”

“Yes, your third cousin - Soromo by name. When your great-grandfather departed from this house and this city, never to return, he left the property in the care of his brother, my great-grandfather. We share the same great-great-grandfather, who was the 14th Thane of Nandemar.”

“Wonder of wonders!” exclaimed Camglas, then placed his hands on Soromo’s arms, his face lit up with joy. “And you’ve kept the place for us all these years?”

Soromo did not return the embrace but smiled slightly.

“Yes,” continued Camglas. “Now, my great-grandfather was the 15th Thane, but the 16th was my great-uncle. It was my father who became the 17th when my great uncle died along with his family… most of them.”

“I know the family history well,” answered Soromo. “Odd chance is it not? Your grandfather was the second son of a first son, while my grandfather was the first son of a second son. Little difference, it might seem – but you are a Thane, and I… a servant.”

“An honored one then, at least henceforth!” replied Camglas, smiling ever brighter. “Like the cousin that a King takes for a Steward in his palace, so you shall be both here, and at Ostinand, if ever you would join us there!”

“You are too kind.” Replied Soromo with a slight bow – and for the first time since knowing him, Eryndil felt that Soromo was truly… pleased. And maybe deeply touched besides.

At just that moment, Naneth the housekeeper interrupted to announce that refreshments of apple pies and hot apple cider had been prepared and awaited them all.